The Forgotten
by Bread Cat
Summary: It had been 20 years after the horrible events on The Island. Jack had successfully blocked the memories of The Island, or did he...?
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: **All characters and quotes (that are mentioned in this story) belong to William Golding and his wonderful book, _Lord of the Flies_

**Summary: **It had been 20 years after the horrible events on The Island. Jack made the successful transition to politics with the capitals he made in his business. In the first few years after he got rescued, the memories of The Island haunted him like a bad dream. It ate him inside out. Months after months, he tried to convince himself that whatever happened on "The Island" was just an awful hallucination, the result of inhaling German's acid gas. He succeeded. The Island sank deeply into his memories with all the other nightmares.

The Island was forgotten…

**A/N:** We thank you for taking your time to read this story, and deep apologize for the grammar errors, we tried our best. Reviews are welcome, since this _is_ our very first fanfiction. Feedback would be embraced with love. (_From Sandwich & Bread Cat_)

**THE FORGOTTEN**

Chapter 1

Jack was about to enter the church when a sudden rush of uneasiness almost overthrew him. He stopped short and tried to locate the source of his agitation.

It was a perfectly miserable day. The City was enclosed by the filmy, depressing blanket of fog which it is famed for. The air was filled with the threat of rain and the musty smell that could only come from a neglected old house and The City.

Behind him, the horde of journalists screamed with renewed energy upon his abrupt halt. Jack knew, with certainty, that his secretary, Eric, was behind him, unsure what he was doing and willing him with appalling intensity not to ruin his career by picking his nose or doing something equally abysmal. So, Jack, in a gesture of extraordinary kindness to the journalists, turned around and waved to them. Barely managing to avoid being blinded by the startling flashes of lightning, he found Eric and gave him a reassuring smile, which, unfortunately, was only received with indignation.

The unsettling feeling was long gone by the time Jack stepped into the building. Once the bustling noises were isolated to the outside, Jack was no longer sure if it really existed in the first place; he tucked it in the back corner of his mind and was determined to think about it no more.

------------------

The church was not especially grand. The bare beams supporting the ceiling, built for the purpose of promoting humbleness, only appeared stingy and desolate. The wall was scarred along the bench by the hands of the uninterested during all the Sundays over the years. The church was built economically, solely for the sake of having a church in the neighbourhood.

Jack smiled smugly at the ingenuity of his own design. Of course, arranging to visit a church so obscure and unimportant was the very proof he needed to demonstrate his own supposed unostentatious nature. A man of comparatively good breeding, who was intelligent and lucky enough to struck a fortune, yet still cared enough about his hometown to return and contribute with such great sincerity, was surely the object of much praising, as well as a capable candidate for the mayor.

And dare I say, thought Jack, much more. From The City, he would launch his platform, recruiting the allies, destroying the enemies, and bribing whatever was left. He was still young, little more than thirty. With his wealth and charisma and connections, he knew he could not reach his own limit in his lifetime. A smirk crept up on Jack's face. And it was the loveliest thing to think that no one would find out. The fools who were unworthy of worshiping his feet would not see anything but what he chose for them too see. Jack had ambitions, and the means of achieving them. In the end, reigning on the top of the world will be…

"Mr. Merridew?" A voice summoned him back from the future of his delusive vision. Jack mentally reminded himself to muster his most self-assured smile before looking up. However, the effort was suspended upon the unreasonable familiarity the strange face before him struck. A feeling arose in him that was something of a void long forgotten and a piece of fragmented memory that could only be recalled fuzzily between the narrow boundaries of nightmares and reality.

"Oh, yes. I am Jack Merridew. Pleasure to meet you." Sure that he would not like the answer, Jack composed himself enough to ask. "I do not mean to intrude, but you are?"

"My name is Ralph Watson. Mr. Merridew. I am the minister of this church."

Jack was startled. His tangled pieces of memories seem to become even blurrier. "Ralph, Ralph…" he murmured quietly to himself, "Where have I heard this name before?"

Ralph smiled gently at Jack, didn't seem to mind the others man's odd reaction. He nodded politely towards Jack before walking to the podium. His black robe swept behind him quietly as he went, as if a victorious general stride proudly to his prize.

Jack decided on that very spot that he did not like this man at all.

------------------

Jack stared blankly at the well curved window frame behind Crucifixion, didn't take any interest in the emotional speech Watson was delivering. As a young boy, he had never liked going to church. If it was not for the chores, he would never have taken Christianity seriously. He waited impatiently for the fair haired priest to finish what he believed a long and boring lecture, so he could get out this place and wave at the journalists and photographers while smiling assertively. He smirked, thinking how easy some people can be fooled by his act.

Before Jack had realized, people started to stand up. He too, stood up, smoothing the tiny wrinkles on his suit.

"Mr. Merridew."

Jack turned, seeing Ralph walking up to him, still with that harmless, but annoying smile.

"Yes, Minster?"

"I just want to thank you for coming here today. We rarely see any politician nowadays."

"That's a pity." Jack nodded, clearly hinting that this conversation was over.

Ralph seemed to catch that hint quite quickly, "Well, thank you again Mr. Merridew."

They shook hands, smiling at each other.

Jack walked down the aisle hastily. He did not like what he saw in Ralph's eyes, but he wasn't sure he saw it correctly. There was an impious look in Ralph's eyes. A kind of hate that could not express by words, so dark, so hollow, as if looking into a dead…

The mayor candidate suddenly shivered violently. Another pair of black eyes emerged from a gloomy part of his memory he tried to forget.

The crowd of journalists tore him away from the intense evil gaze. The church door was shut behind him with a quiet thump.

Suddenly everything was silent. Only Ralph's last bitter words that came through the crack of the doors lingered in the suffocating air.

"Do you still remember Piggy?"

------------------

"Eric?"

"Yes, sir?"

"Do you know who Piggy is?"

"Pardon me, sir?"

"Piggy…"

"I don't believe so, sir. It sounds like a nickname given to a young child by his friends."

Jack fell silent, but his eyes never left Eric, who was busy with the documents on the other side of the room. He did not know how Eric did it. How he could still be so confident after his twin, Sam's death. Jack narrowed his eyes. He definitely smelled something funny in the air.

"Eric, go to bed. We are done for today."

"Are you sure, sir?"

"Yes."

Eric shut the door timidly, but not before he poked his head into the room and bided Jack good night.

The soft click brought the room into complete stillness. Jack closed his eyes, stretched lazily in his chair, sipping the last remain of the excellent tea which Eric brewed before he left, feeling nothing but absolute contentment. Right now, the little encounter in the morning became a bit ridiculous. Jack laughed quietly to himself. That Ralph must be crazy.

"_Kill the beast! Cut his throat! Spill his blood!"_

Jack sat up in a jerk. He looked in the dark room in alert. Did he hear that? He was not sure. The room was covered in a raven blanket, except the dim light from his table light. Shadows stood around him soundlessly, seeming to wait, to expect.

"_Kill the beast! Cut his throat! Spill his blood!"_

The voice became louder and louder. It came from everywhere. The young boys' innocent voices turned into daggers with these words. It wounded his arms and legs. Blood spitted out from the cuts and turned into a crimson fire. Everything started to burn: the room, the suddenly shuffle of shadows, and his body. There were hands clutching his leg. The face of a fat boy touched his cheek.

"My specs! Give me my specs!"

Jack staggered out of his room and into the dark hallway. The face, so vivid and alive, suspended itself in front of his vision. Its eyes saturated with indignation, projected livid spears that pierced right through Jack's consciousness. Pieces of broken memory from his past squeezed and pushed themselves to the surface, but twisted together into a muddled monstrosity before they had the chance to be recognized.

A moist earth with the scent of fresh dropping.

A humiliation too great to bear.

"I am chief. I have meat…How could we have killed it…"

Jack stumbled across the hallway, barely able to support himself.

And in the end, there was always the face, podgy and so filled with rage that the fat shivered in ripples. A pair of glasses with one broken lens dangled precariously on one ear.

"I got the conch! I tell you, I got the conch! Listen!" The face would always demand. Yet what it wanted to say Jack never comprehended.

His feet had directed him in front of Eric's door, seeking salvation without the navigation of the mind. Before Jack realized what he was doing, he shoved himself into his secretary's room and screamed with all the intensity he possessed.

"ERIC!"

But Eric was not there. For one moment Jack panicked that he would never wake up from this horrendous nightmare and that the ravenous face would finally devour him. But somehow hearing his own voice had brought him nearer to the reality and the voices wavered slightly. So Jack tried again.

"ERIC!"

The face faded.

Jack smiled with relief. He had found the weapon after all. He stood in the middle of the room, mocking the shadows cowering in the corners that only a moment before had seemed so menacing and insurmountable.

"So this really is a dream. Ha. I will certainly have a good laugh at this when I wake up. What a ridiculous dream this is. Simply absurd. I suppose the stress of this election must be getting to me. But no matter, I am Jack Merridew, and I get what I want. No one is the better of me. A dream, this is just a dream, a stupid, random dream. Yes, no dream is going to get the better of me because I am Jack Merridew and Jack Merridew is better than everyone, isn't he? Of course he is. Why would I even bother to ask? Everyone knows that Jack Merridew is Mayor Merridew, wait, oh, I am such a kidder. Prime Minister Merridew! Oh yes, wouldn't that be grand. Prime Minister Merridew. Oh yes, it is a perfect name indeed…"

Convinced that the voices had subdued sufficiently for him to re-enter the hallway, Jack pushed open the door. He extended his long leg tentatively and allowed his toes to touch the floor just outside. Sure that its existence was corporal and not a mirage designed to deceit him, he let his body to follow suit. All the while, he muttered to himself for the comforting security.

"…The people that supported me will get what they are promised, of course. Oh yes, they will be awarded. But those do not will certainly suffer. Oh, what a pleasure to even think about it. Award is sweet and punishment bitter. Can't deny it, really, I am impressed…"

Even though Jack knew that he had defeated his own nightmare, the stifling suffocation

of the walls still made his exceedingly uncomfortable. So he decided to take a stroll outside.

"…I am just going to get my coat, of course, when I am the king a servant shall do that for me, and if he complains, no, if he looks like he wants to complain, I will chop his head off, yes, down his head will come. Sure, it's late, but who cares when I am the king. You know what? I won't even go out when I am the king since I would have streets in my own room…"

A click in the lock interrupted his boisterous rambling. Jack froze. His brilliant future immediately slipped away along with the reverberation. The present sneaked up on him and the shadows grew immensely larger instantly. Jack watched the rotating doorknob with fearful revere, awaiting the creature on the other side. The last trace of the effect of his portentous prediction had yet to dissipate, so he braced himself, still half-convinced that he was invincible.

Entered Eric, carrying a fresh wisp of morning mist. Jack was felt that a burden on his shoulder he did not even realize existed was lifted. He stared at Eric, watched him wince at his presence, and before he had the chance to express his gratefulness, was immediately taken over by paranoia.

"What were you doing out so late?"

Eric did not respond. He lowered his head in silence.

Jack waited impatiently.

"Well?"

Eric lifted his head, and met Jack's eyes.

"Why?"

"What do you mean why? You are my secretary. You are paid to live here and assist me in everyway you can, at least during the campaign season…"

As if didn't hear him, Eric continued.

"Why? Jack?"

"What? What is wrong with you? You went out…"

"You promised, Jack."

Jack's speech was cut short. There was definitely something not right in the way Eric said that. The tone in everyway resembled a desperate, abused child pleading for mercy from his abusers.

"You said you are going to protect us."

"Don't you remember? Jack?"

Eric stepped forward, and Jack retreated.

"You said if there's a beast you will hunt it down and kill it, Jack."

"You said you wouldn't let it harm us."

Eric took another step, forcing Jack further back.

"Why is Simon dead? Jack?"

"Why is Piggy's head smashed open? Jack?"

Eric reached for his left hand for Jack, and it took Jack all his strength not to scream.

"You said we are going to hunt and have fun."

"Did you not promise? Jack?"

"Why did you steal Piggy's glasses?"

Jack was backed against an end table in the hallway.

"Don't you want to be rescued? Jack?"

"You are the chief. Aren't you? Jack?"

Eric grasped Jack's shoulders and wringed them with all his might.

"Why won't you help us? Jack!"

"Why? Jack? Why? Why? Why!"

From Jack's throat came a helpless sound he was almost sure did not belong to him.

"That was Piggy's face." was his last thought before the world turned black.

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: **All related characters and plots belong to William Golding and _Lord of the Flies_

**A/N:** We send our deepest appreciations for those who reviewed, and those who read but did not. Here is the second chapter of The Forgotten. Please Enjoy.

**THE FORGOTTEN**

Chapter 2

Jack found himself running through a dark mist. Things were chasing him; things he knew would chew on his body and drink his blood. Fear suffocated his throat. He wanted to scream, but found out he couldn't open his mouth; he wish he could ran faster, but found out his body was tangled in the interlaced fog that stick to his body like spider webs. The wall started to close around him, and he knew the creatures were approaching. They shook the web on him violently, with spears in their hands. Jack whispered and trembled…

"…Sir? Sir? Mr. Merridew?"

Jack shot up from the desk abruptly, nearly knocked Eric over.

"WHO! WHO GOES THERE?"

Eric looked strangely at Jack, noticed the formerly neat and well organized mayor candidate's blood-shot eyes and wrinkled suit. He looked away, a bit embarrassed.

"Sir, it's me, Eric. I think you fell asleep on the desk last night."

"Oh…" Jack answered stupidly.

For the first time, Jack noticed he was still behind his office desk, with a trace of drool on the piece of document he was working on last night. He blushed hotly, and quickly crumpled up the paper.

"I will get ready for breakfast, would you like coffee or tea?"

"Tea would be fine, thank you." Eric smiled gently and exited briefly.

With the soft click of the door, Jack was all by himself in the room again. He closed his tired eyes, trying to clear his mind. Was last night a dream? Or did he really see and hear all that ludicrous?

Jack's hands on the armrest tightened. He stared intensely on the spot where the shadows were swivelling in his dream, but the shadows stood motionlessly, smirking, deriding at Jack's stupidity and insanity.

Jack sneered loudly in a heat of fury, threw the innocent telephone to the wall with so much force, it broke to pieces in a second. He panted loudly, and screamed,

"GET A GRIP, JACK! IT'S ONLY A BLOODY DREAM! A BLOODY FUCKING DREAM!"

With a swift movement, everything on the desk was swept to the floor. Papers were everywhere, creating a tiny pond of frozen ocean.

Downstairs, Eric poured the newly brewed tea into Jack's cup. He looked out the window after and murmured softly to himself.

"It's probably going to rain today."

------------------

The winter had showered The City with frost. It rarely snowed in The City, but the white, shining frost on the roofs of the houses made The City its own winter wonderland. The wind was never too harsh, and the temperature never dropped between -5°C. Jack had lived in this town since he was 14 years old. The City was his paradise.

Jack relaxed in the backseat of his private car. He had cleared his schedule entries for the day. He needed time to think, and get some information. Jack didn't tell Eric where he went, even though his secretary asked so earnestly when he asked him to clear the schedule. There were plenty of reasons for Jack to distrust Eric, his twin's death, for example.

"George, turn the car to Central Library."

"Yes, Sir." George, Jack's private driver, answered mechanically as usual.

Jack sat back comfortably in his leather seat again, and listened to the classical music playing softly on the radio.

The car swung inexpertly, a hand touched Jack's throat.

Jack jerked up.

No one…nothing…

Jack gulped, this was not happening again. His sweaty palm touched the cold glass, which was not freezing like he expected. He slowly turned his head, while shaking violently. Ghostly heads with unclear faces filled every inches of the window. Their mouths were moving, saying things Jack could not hear. Jack jumped to call for George, who turned. That was not George, or at least the face was not. It was that fat boy Piggy again, whose voice seem to come far away, from another world.

"What about the fire, Jack?"

"Jack, Jack…" The face outside of the car started to chant, "Jack, Jack, sir…"

"SIR!"

Jack gaped.

"What?"

"We have arrived to our destination, Central Library."

"All right. No need to yell."

Jack shut the car door on George's apologetic face. Actually, he was thankful for George's call, or he might become crazy right on that spot.

Jack shook his head and straight his suit before stepping into the library.

-----------------

Built by the end of Victorian Era, the library was originally a mansion consisted of arches and tower-like wings, which, incidentally by the end of blitz, were all that remained. It was recently restored by the city counsel, although by a struck of extreme misfortune, a modern element was introduced in an effort to create a contemporary façade for The City.

A day in the library was never Jack's idea of fun. As a child, he had evaded visitations to the best of his abilities. Fortunately, his abilities were extremely capable, for they were the sum all the schoolboys he had the power to intimidate. Jack deemed the place hypocritical, yet after the insanity he experienced in the cramped backseat of the car, a change of space was more than welcomed.

Jack approached the young, blond receptionist behind the front desk, and asked, accompanied with his most amiable air.

"Excuse me? Deepest apologize for your trouble, but I am wondering if you could tell me where I might find some information from years back."

The receptionist looked at Jack in astonishment. "Mr. Merridew!"

Jack raised his eyebrows.

"I am sorry. I am too forward. It's just, I've been following your campaign. And I've always wanted to tell you how lucky The City is, to have you as the mayor and all."

"Oh, thank you so very much for your good wishes, but I am afraid we will not know who the people want as the mayor until a few months…" Jack put on a flattered expression, though inside he was toppled over with laughter. Not surprisingly, a considerable portion of Jack's supporters consisted of female between the ages of 18 to 30.

"And so modest too! But I think we'll know your retard of an opponent won't stand a chance…"

"Now, Ms, my opponent is a worthy one, but let's not discuss such matter in a place like

this."

Became conscious of her imprudence, the young receptionist blushed.

"Right, Mr. Merridew, all the old records are kept in the basement, but you will have to

ask Ms. Greyson on the third floor for permission. She holds those records very dearly."

"Thank you very much. Ms…?"

"Miss Stella Starkey." Encouraged, Miss Starkey ventured a wink, but Jack tipped his hat,

and was already gone. She called out.

"It's simply inspirational to see a man as busy as you are finding time to continue enriching himself…"

The reception area on the first floor was intended to delight with its grand design and standing windows, but the third floor was not.

Even though the encounter with Miss Starkey improved his mood vastly, the shelves of books, narrowly stationed row after row, isolating aisles and aisles, still made Jack vaguely uneasy. In another time, another place, another life, Jack was looking for (…_hunting_…) Ms. Greyson (… _pigs_…) in an interlaced maze of unending foreign objects. (…_jungle_…)

Jack inhaled the stale air and tried to clear his head. Where did those words come from? He did not know, and nowadays, he did not bother to, nor did he want to, find out.

If the blind admiration of the young bird pleased him immensely, then the old, grouchy librarian annoyed him to no end.

Jack tapped his finger impatiently on the table, waiting for the elder librarian to get the results he was looking for. He stared sideway at the woman, who seemed to have all the time in the world, flipping through the files one at a time. Jack could feel a headache coming up.

Someone tapped on his shoulder

Jack jumped, and then automatically threw his left fist right toward the person or thing that was behind him.

"Wow, Mr. Merridew, no violence in public, please." The new comer said lightly.

"Minister Watson?"

"I see you still remember me, Mr. Merridew. I am much honoured."

Jack grinned. He somehow found that the present of Ralph released the tension in the air.

"Don't be, my Mister, the pleasure is mine."

"Don't mind if I ask, Mr. Merridew, what are you looking for here?"

"Oh no, no. I am just here to search for something about a group of boys lost on an island 20 years ago."

Ralph didn't response for a second. His lip tightened into a thin line and a hand went to the cross on his neck. For a second, Jack thought he saw a dirty 12 years old boy stood alone on an island, with a beautiful white conch shining in his hand.

"God bless you, Mr. Merridew." With that, Ralph walked away quietly.

The elder librarian pulled Jack from his confusion to Ralph's ignorance. She handed the mayor candidate a stack of newspaper.

Jack groaned his thanks, and started to read the articles when he found a quiet corner in the library.

The news was not published on the front page of the paper, which was full with war details. Instead, it took a full fifth page of the newspaper, with big bold letters read: _Lost Boys Back Home_. There was a 5000 words interview on the boys, which Jack vaguely remembered attending to. In the article, a boy names Ralph was mentioned more than a few times.

"…everything was wonderful in the beginning…the conch…paradise…fun…we built a fire…I was the leader…choirs were hunters…Jack he left us…He became the leader…"

Jack's heart was in his throat.

"…_Simon_ was killed…Roger…the twins…_Piggy_'s head was hit open by a rock…Roger…we saw it…Roger did it…"

Simon…Piggy…

Jack remembered. He remembered the island, the pigs, the dance, and Simon and Piggy. It was not Roger. He did it. He participated in it. He told the boys to do the dance; he ordered his hunters to steal Piggy's glasses. It was his fault…

No, it's not! Another voice argued in his head. They deserved it. Both Simon and Piggy, they deserved what they got! Simon was a snotty brat. If he didn't come down from the mountain during that time of the day, they wouldn't have killed him. If Piggy and Ralph weren't so insistent on their little democracy, Piggy wouldn't have died. If Ralph didn't run away from him, he wouldn't tell his hunters to hunt him down. If Sam didn't listen to his conversation, he wouldn't…

An inner voice, much darker, interrupted. Jack, Jack, Piggy and Simon knew it was your fault. That's why they came to haunt you, because they think you don't deserve what you have now. They are going to torture you slowly, then eat your flesh and bones. They are going to push your soul to the deepest pit of hell where you shall be in excruciating pain for an eternity and beyond.

Stop it! It's not true! It's not…

"Mr. Merridew, are you ok? You don't look so good. Do you want me to get you some tea?" A familiar voice whispered beside Jack's ear.

"Yes, please…" Jack hugged himself in the chair, rocking back and forth.

Again, Jack started to see Piggy and Simon crawling over to him, while Piggy's head was open and Simon had scars all over his body. But this time, Roger was standing beside him, his spear in the hand. The dark boy smirked wickedly.

"Do you want me to kill them for you, Jack?"

Hands from nowhere grabbed Jack's mouth, and forced him to say yes.

Roger grinned triumphantly, and raised his spear which was sharpened on both ends.

"Mr. Merridew. Your tea."

"Yes, yes please…"

Jack shakily took a large gulp of the tea, while watched the blood playing in front of him. He couldn't stop watching, the way Roger's spear went into Piggy's head.

"More tea, Jack?"

"More tea, more tea, of course, Ralph…"

My car disappeared. Jack thought with perfect indifference. George was supposed to be waiting, with the car, right here, like I told him to… Wait, never mind, I must have imagined that. Do they really exist? Or did I make up George and the car too?

Do I really exist? How do I know? Maybe I've been dreaming all these times. Maybe I am still on The Island…

With an excellent sense of detachment, Jack observed a string of flat, round-ish shapes rolling leisurely past him, leaving shivering trails of brilliant colours, all of which he failed to identify.

Hey, look, pigs. We need meat. I chase.

Jack took off after the pig. His heart pummelled his rib cage. Respiration streamed down his forehead and blurred his vision. His mouth held so little moisture that a thousand daggers stabbed his tongue every time he breathed.

Yet the pigs vanished. Jack could still hear their plump bodies and taste the colours they mockingly emitted.

We need meat. They want meat. I am chief and I get meat.

Another parade of shapes ran toward Jack, honking triumphantly, and raced past him before Jack could react.

Jack swirls on his heels. The world intermingled into the color of bad coffee. The sky was knitted with ash and fragment of the conch.

The pigs vanished again.

Resolute to capture a pig to attest his spot as the chief, Jack followed the interlacing pig runs through this sadistic jungle of salvation. Sprinting after the pigs and their dazzling droppings when he saw them, and jogging along when they ran out of sight.

The hopeless chase stretched out for a millennium and blood was flushing up to Jack's ears

_boom boom boom boom boom boom boom_

The rapid drumbeats urged him to go on, but Jack had finally exhausted the last of his strength. He pressed his back against one of the giant square tree of the jungle, and waited for the coolness to calm him down.

The drumbeats became more deliberate.

_Boom, boom, boom, boom, boom, boom, boom_

Suddenly Jack was engulfed by a blinding rage. I am the chief. I killed Simon and Piggy and Sam and I will do the same to everyone else. I am the chief. I will give them meat if I want. All of them will shut up and do what I want. I want. I won't allow them…

The drumbeats quickened again.

…Won't allow them to do this to me. I AM CHIEF AND I AM CHIEF AND I AM CHIEF I CHIEF I AM CHIEF I CHIEF CHIEF CHIEF CHIEF….

Heaven was drenched in scarlet. The flames made the ashes then consumed them. Jack struggled violently for air and the object in his chest screamed and kicked and clawed and begged for a place to go. Jack's entire body trembled uncontrollably.

An outlandish form with ragged outline approached. It was muttering a strange incantation, rhythmical and lyrical. Jack watched it curiously, trying to make out each sound, yet never caught more than a couple words at once.

"…_even causing _**fire to come down**_ from heaven to earth in full view of men. Because of the signs he was given_** power**_ to do on behalf of the first _**beast**_, he _**deceived**_ the inhabitants of the earth. _**He ordered them**_ to set up an image in honour of the _**beast**_ who was wounded by the sword and yet lived. He was given _**power**_ to give breath to the image of the first _**beast**_, so that it could speak and cause all who _**refused to worship**_ the image _**to be killed**_…" _1

Jack had heard enough. It was accusing him of failing to protect his subjects from the Beast and of deception. The Form was challenging his leadership, and he quite honestly will not stand for it. So he lunged himself toward the nameless form and kicked and punched and clawed and scratched and gnawed at it. The Form fell down and gave a piercing cry and screamed something about the Beast and the end was nigh and the dead are judged. Jack could sense the eyes of his phantom hunters gazing at him, seeking proof of his proficiency as chief. Jack kicked and punched and clawed and scratched and gnawed harder. Not because he had to prove anything to the fools, but because he wanted to make an example out of the Form.

The Ragged Form shrunk in size and became a ragged sphere. A limb jutted out from the sphere in an attempt to crawl away from the impenetrable net weaved by the storm of an assault. For a moment it almost succeeded, but Jack pursued him and landed a blow of fury. The Form fell silent after that, but Jack continued the attack. Pieces of crimson descend to Jack's face, hands, and coat from the sky, which gradually morphed into velvet shadows that twirled and swirled and confused Jack.

Jack paused and looked up, the twinkling diamonds winked at him knowingly. Jack looked down at his feet and saw a person covered in rag and drenched in blood on the sidewalk. His face paled with horror with the understanding of what he did. Then the curtain in his mind was shut again, and he was back on The Island, with the gaze of his phantom hunters burning on his back.

He proceeded with kicking and punching and clawing and scratching and gnawing.

TBC

1 Revelation 13, The Beast out of the Earth


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: **We do not own _Lord of the Flies _and other related information.

**A/N: **This is it, the final chapter. We enjoyed writing this story (especially the parts where we torture Jack), and we hope you enjoy reading it. Thank you for bear with us to our last chapter.

**THE FORGOTTEN**

Epilogue

The caretaker knocked on the door, but did not bother to wait for permission. She balanced the medicine tray on one hand expertly and pushed open the door. Inside the room, the man with a face drained of color was sitting on the edge of the bed.

The field was expectantly silent, as it should be for a graveyard. The tall brown weeds fell neatly to one side, while the wind came and go, touching the face of the winter ground, whispering sadly to the graves. A young man, no more than 35 years old, stood amongst the grey stones, holding a small bouquet of white asters.

----------------

The minister woke up earlier than usual. Sunlight from the window greeted him and kissed his face affectionately. The minister silently prayed to the Lord for His generous and unbiased love for His sons. He closed his eyes and enjoyed the moment until the alarm clock finally sounded.

"Good morning, Mr. Merridew. How are you feeling today?"

The man on the bed stared emotionless at the caretaker. He opened his mouth awkwardly, trying to make a sound, but instead, a stream of drool dropped from the corner of his mouth.

----------------

"Hi, how are things going down there? I brought you our favorite flower. You like it?" The young man smiled at the gravestone, on which engraved the letters:

**Here Lies Samuel James Danson**

**Beloved Son and Brother**

**1946-1977**

**If I should die before I wake  
I pray the Lord my soul to take**

"I am sorry you missed out on so much, but that's okay. I'm living for the both of us now."

----------------

After bathing, the Minster walked down the long hall way to the dining room. He usually would have done his morning prayer by this time, but because of the sinful act he committed a few days ago, he found himself stared accusingly by the gaze of the God.

"It was all done for the best."

The hand went to grab the golden cross that hung around the Minster's neck. He murmured to himself before he entered the grand room.

----------------

"Here you are, Mr. Merridew. Just put this in your mouth. Then drink all of this…"

The caretaker put assorts of pills on Jack's hand, and watched him swallowed them all as obediently as a kitten. She smiled kindly at him, feeling the deepest sympathy.

"And to think, a few years ago, he was going to be the Mayor of The City…"

----------------

The man kneeled down in front of his brother's grave stone, and placed the white flowers carefully. He gently caressed the name on the stone, as if it was really his brother.

"It was all over, Eric. I had taken your revenge for you. You should be there. It was so sweet that I can taste it. Jack probably tasted it too."

----------------

After an exceptionally satisfying breakfast, the Minister asked for the Lord's forgiveness for his sin of gluttony. Then he went and picked up the morning paper.

"Good day, Minister Watson, sir." The paper boy greeted Ralph, his bike staggering from the weight of the papers.

Ralph smiled and nodded at him, and glanced at the newspaper. On the front page, the headline was:

**Former Mayor Hopeful Acquitted by Plea of Insanity**

----------------

Jack held his arm out in a jerky movement, which hit the caretaker on the face. The woman yelped, and dropped the tray.

"Mr. Merridew!"

The man suddenly laughed, in a voice of 3 years old. He giggled and stuck his tongue out.

"Ralph, you idiot. You dropped the meat."

----------------

"Near the end, I lost track of what I put in his drinks. Not that it mattered, you know? He was already messed up so badly. Although I am so glad that I get to see the moment he crossed over."

The young man's voice suddenly became that of a desperate, abused child.

"Why is Piggy's head smashed open? Jack?"

He laughed out loud. "Oh, Eric, it would have been so much more fun if you were there."

----------------

Ralph sighed loudly as he threw the newspaper in his room. The sinful box of drug sheets, unlabelled, stood smugly on his table stand. Ralph wondered sourly why he hadn't trash it out. It was the evidence of his great sin, keeping it wouldn't relinquish the things he had done.

He had betrayed God. He used his advantage to destroy a man, even though that man was Jack Merridew.

----------------

The caretaker left the room quietly, leaving Jack alone with his utterance.

"How is Merridew doing?" Another caretaker approached her.

"He's in one of his fits again."

The other nodded gravely. One must always be very careful when Merridew was in one of his fits.

When he was first arrested, it took three police officers to separate him from the corpse of the religious nut he was abusing.

----------------

The man sat on the ground, crossing his leg, laughing hysterically.

"You should have seen his face! It was hilarious. One would think he had seen a real ghost!"

Still laughing, tears started to running down from the corner of the man's eyes.

"And he deserved it, all of it! After what he had done to you…Eric, my brother, why did you leave me because of my mistake? Why do we have to look so alike?"

----------------

Ralph had found himself having trouble staying focus for a few days. He would stop for an absurd length of time in a middle of a speech and blank. He couldn't remove the trembling, bubbling Jack out of his mind. He seemed so scared, like a frightened pig. Even the last time he finally decided to visit Jack, he didn't have the courage to face the white and horrified face of Jack.

"Are you alright, Minister?"

----------------

In the room, Jack was restless. He needed something, but did not know what. He found a plastic fork, which the caretaker forgot to pick up, and pounced on to the bed like a beast. He stabbed the fork into the bed violently, and snarled in an animalistic growl.

The two women outside winced, knowing fully well what was coming up next.

----------------

"Why our old Mayor died was the one thing, the one and only thing I have not shared with you, Eric. And I was punished so severely for it. For the rest of my life this void will never be filled; I will always pause in mid-sentence, expecting someone to finish it for me…"

The young man finally broke into a fit of sobs.

"He killed him…the Mayor…Jack killed the Mayor…and he knew that I knew it…"

----------------

The inquirer was a boy in the church's choir. He was a bright twelve years old with the face of an angel. Needless to say, Ralph was quite fond of him.

"Oh, I am just fine, thank you for asking, Harry." Ralph watched his scarlet hair reflecting sunshine. I think I might see my own face in his hair if I really try. Ralph thought.

"All right then, Minister Watson, have a good day. God bless you." Harry said cheerfully.

Ralph admired the youthful innocence that reeked from Harry even as he walked away.

"I know what you did. Minister Watson." Out of the blue, Harry said quietly, not looking back, nor slowing his steps.

Ralph froze.

----------------

The two women watched in wonder.

Jack was grabbing his own head and smashing it against the wall. After the blood trickled down his forehead, he stopped, dabbed it with his finger, and tasted it curiously.

Instantly, his expression morphed into a combination of fear and menace. He screamed on the top of his lung.

"OUT! BEAST! OUT!"

Jack punched himself across the face, which caused his mouth to bleed. And the blood only made him more excited. He bit his forearm and threw himself against the wall repeatedly. The plastic fork was made of use also, for Jack stabbed himself in the throat with it.

The two women knew it would only get worse from here and help must be called to stop Jack from harming himself further. But Merridew was a hopeless case, and watching a former star in such a pathetic state was just oh-so-amusing.

----------------

"Jack killed you instead of me, Eric. He thought he killed me though, and the funny part is he still hired me, because I pretended to be you, as his secretary. Sometimes I really want to know what was going on in that little head of his…"

The grave agreed silently.

"Then I got the chance to talk with Ralph again. Surprisingly, he forgave Jack for killing Piggy and Simon. But, Eric, I couldn't, especially after he shot you where your heart was. I drugged him, Eric. I picked out the worst drug that I could get my hands on in the black market to add into Jack's tea. Then I convinced Ralph to go to the library and do the same…"

The grave sighed, but said nothing.

"You don't think I am crazy, do you? I did all these for you, so don't you dare point your finger at me!"

The grave stared blankly at Eric, or he should be called Sam.

"Jack was an ass, he thought he could have everything, he thought he could get away with what he did, just like on the island."

The grave opened its mouth and swallowed the crying man.

----------------

On the driveway of Minister Watson's house stood a garbage bin. It was blue with wheels and innocent like all other garbage bins. Its owner was in an obscure church in an obscure neighborhood in the obscure part of The City, doing his job like all other good ministers.

That day was garbage day.

----------------

"_Kill the beast! Cut his throat! Spill his blood!" _

Jack rocked back and forth, singing to himself.

"Remember, my hunters, we can't kill the Beast because it will always come back. It's unforgettable…"

------The End------


End file.
